Episode 17: Found
by Castle Season 9
Summary: Beckett is forced to draw on her past experiences to protect herself and Senator Kearney from a new threat, while her team races to solve a case they thought they had closed.
1. Chapter 1

**Found**

Season 9, Episode 17

Written by whatifellinlovewith

 _This is a work of fiction by writers with no professional connection to ABC network's Castle. Recognizable characters are the property of Andrew Marlowe and ABC. Names, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental._

* * *

The bags of takeout slipped from Castle's fingers onto the breakfast bar, landing with a familiar crinkle of plastic that had a slight smile curling at the corner of his mouth. The day already seemed to be lifting from his shoulders, home easing the tension left by their case, anticipation of a quiet night in with his wife soothing the feeling in the pit of his stomach that something about the case didn't make sense.

Kate would be home soon, as soon as she had taken the senator home, so he went to work setting the table, opting for the dining area instead of the breakfast bar. His mind raced as he moved the Italian food he'd picked up from the takeout containers to serving dishes. They didn't usually do that, but he needed to keep his mind occupied, lest his worries about the case consume him.

Something didn't add up.

He just couldn't figure out what.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, halting the impending spiral of his mind. He reached down to retrieve it, swiping the screen to answer the call the moment he saw his wife's face illuminating the screen.

A breath came over the line, quiet and annoyed, and he expected her voice to follow with apologies that she needed to stay back for some reason, or with rants about the Senator's actions since he had left her side. But it didn't come, not the exasperated rant or exhausted questions or joyous hello that could have come through.

Nothing.

Until—

A thud sounded in the background, distant but there all the same, punctuated by her voice, a mumble in his ear.

"What the-"

His breath hitched, fingers tightening around the device cradled in his hand. He let his eyes lock on the serving platter he'd set on the table, brain trying to imagine the dinner they would have if— _when_ —she got home. Trying to calm the traitorous race of his anxious heart.

It leapt into his throat as another thud sounded, stilling there until he heard another breath come over the line, quieter this time, but there all the same. Promises that she was alive, that it was probably— _hopefully_ —nothing and within moments she would be speaking explanations into his ear and loosening the knot in his chest with promises to be home soon.

She would. He knew she would.

Except—

"Drop the gun and phone, Captain."

He almost dropped his own phone at the words, fingers shaking as he clutched tighter at it. His other hand closed around the back of a dining chair, supporting his weight as his knees threatened to fail, weakened by the words just as much as his ability to breathe or speak. His mind scrambled with questions, raced with a desperate need to know what was happening and whose muffled voice had sounded over the line before his wife had even said a word to address him.

Who was speaking to his wife, voice laced with a sharp desperation, an _order_ he knew meant nothing good.

The sound of Kate's phone clattering to the ground only solidified the weight in his chest, the pressure against his lungs rendering him incapable of breath but past which he forced words all the same.

"Beckett? Are you there? Kate?"

The words played on repeat in his ears, fell from his lips just the same, a mantra of half-hearted hope for a response, an explanation, anything to cease the worst-case scenarios budding behind eyes he hadn't realized had fallen shut, to calm the erratic race of his heart.

And then he heard the shot.

* * *

It was strange for Ryan to be the last of their team at the precinct, for him to be the one sitting there as the sun sank beneath the city, painting the sky in streaks of color, buoyed only by the budding of spring. It was quiet, the night shift having begun and taken with it a number of uniforms who would return in the morning to crowd the homicide floor again.

He took a second, just a moment, to marvel at it. To think that he was the first one to start a family but his team—his best friends—were starting their own. There would be less time spent with his own family as his team developed the same needs, with Esposito in a relationship laced with an unprecedented level of commitment from him, and Castle and Beckett finally getting their happy ending; he found a bitter pain in his chest at the realization that something would have to change, because he wanted more time with his own family, too.

And then he forced his fingers tighter around his pen, turned his attention back to the paperwork laid out across his desk and reminded himself that compromises would be lesser the sooner he got that finished.

Until the phone was blaring through the silence, the familiar jingle sounding with still unspoken promises to ruin his night, drag him back into the city and away from his home. He reached for it, brought it to his ear.

But what he heard wasn't a professional informing him of a murder to be solved. Rather, it was a gasping voice so familiar yet broken that it sent ice cooling his veins, certainty that something was terribly wrong cementing in his gut.

"Castle?" he asked, hearing his own voice shaking, cracking ever so slightly under the weight of his expectations.

"Ryan she's– Beckett– She's there," came a choked response from the other end of the call. "She's at Kearney's house and there was a voice and– and a shot. There was a _shot_."

Castle's words were frantic and broken and almost didn't make sense. _Almost._

Ryan almost wished it didn't make sense, so he could pretend, for a moment, that he didn't feel his own panic budding. _Almost._

He sucked in a breath, words of reassurance welling in his chest but falling silent from his lips, voice forming a promise instead. "I'm on my way."

The sound of his desk phone being set back down echoed through the bullpen, almost as loud as the skidding of his desk chair, his steps as he rushed to the elevator, cell phone poised in his hand with Esposito's number already dialing.

* * *

In hindsight, Castle should have taken his car service or a cab. But his mind had been racing too quickly, focused on one thing and one thing only, and that was getting to his wife. His very pregnant wife who was in the vicinity of a gunshot, who could be bleeding out - again - while he waited for a car or cab.

So he drove.

Somehow he managed to weave through the streets of the city in one piece, the blue and red flashing lights of police cars guiding him once he got close to Kearney's house, and he skidded to a stop, tires squealing, his seatbelt stopping him from jerking too far forward. He spotted Ryan instantly, the detective fastening a bulletproof vest, and Castle didn't even bother turning off his car, just threw it in park and got out.

"Ryan!"

He pushed his way through the uniforms that were blocking off the scene, made note of the van with _Hostage Rescue Team_ on the side pulling up just after he did. When he reached Ryan he took note of his disheveled appearance: tie askew, top button undone, hair limp. And, by the look that Ryan gave him, Castle figured he looked the same way.

But he didn't care about that. He just needed his wife out of that house, safe. He needed to know that she was okay.

"What do we know?" Castle barked. "Who the hell is in there? We arrested the killer!"

Ryan shook his head. "I have no idea. Patricia was perfect for it. Her fingerprints were on the gun, which we found in her apartment. She had motive, opportunity, and evidence."

"But this obviously isn't her," said Castle, gut twisting. "Do you have any suspects?"

Ryan's face fell at the question, and he shook his head sadly as he spoke. "The only other one we had was the driver, but I had a uniform look into his mysterious day off and turns out he had a doctor's appointment with a urologist and was too embarrassed to say anything," he explained, "and either way, he picked up when we called and he's at home with his family."

There was a pause, silence. Castle felt his gut twisting, his heart hoping Ryan would follow up with a _but_ and information they could actually use.

Instead, he found Ryan's gaze shifting over Castle's shoulder. "Oh thank God, Espo made it."

Castle reached into Ryan's trunk and grabbed a spare vest, not wanting to waste any time to get his personal one from his car. "That's great, I'm going in."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going in," Castle repeated, shoving his arms through the vest. "I'm getting Beckett out of there."

"Whoa, hold on." Esposito arrived just in time to grab one of Castle's arms, stopping it. "Dude, no you're not. It's too dangerous."

"There was a _shot,_ Espo," Castle snapped. "He told her to put her phone down and then I heard a _shot._ " His stomach churned, and he swallowed to force back down the bile in his throat, the thought of what could have transpired just yards away making him nauseous. His phone was heavy in his pocket, regret sinking in his gut at the fact that he'd had to hang up to call Ryan. He gripped the edge of Ryan's trunk, propping himself up as his breath started to quicken and his vision blurred. He felt himself sway on his feet, and in a moment there was a pair of hands on each arm, reminding him that the bulletproof vest was just another weight on his chest. He pulled it off, ripping it from his body and throwing it aside before Ryan made him turn around and lean on the car.

"Give us time, Castle," Ryan muttered, a firm hand on his shoulder. "We're gonna figure this out, and we're gonna get Beckett out of there safe and sound."

* * *

She forced herself to blink, just once, to ensure she wasn't dreaming, not imagining the shattered wall opposite her, the lingering reverberation of a gunshot ringing in the air. But it stayed there, the slice through the drywall, the rattling in her skull as the sound played on repeat in her mind.

Her gaze fell and landed on the swell of her baby bump, a hand coasting across her waist where it used to taper beneath her ribcage but had since swollen with life. The reminder of her daughter had her chest pounding against the cage of her ribs, gut twisting unpleasantly with the knowledge of all that was at stake.

She tightened her fingers around the warming metal of her gun, clutched it to her side as the echo of the gunshot faded, replaced instead with footsteps that would be unnoticed if not for the silence. If not for the way her breath was trapped in her chest and Senator Kearney seemed to be too shocked to make a sound.

The voice came again, louder, more certain, and causing fear to lance its way through both his victims.

"I told you to drop the gun, too," he said.

And she did, hand pressing hard to her baby bump in a silent apology for the show of surrender as the weapon slipped from between her fingers, hitting the floor with a metallic _thud_ she wished she could deafen herself to. The footsteps continued to draw nearer, the orders cutting through the silence with a tone so icy she couldn't think to disobey.

Not anymore. Not with her daughter on the line.

A phone was ringing in the distance, chirping happily as though nothing was wrong, but their captor didn't flinch, and she didn't dare do anything that might drive him to pull the trigger.

"Back up. More. _More._ "

She slowly walked backwards until her spine hit an archway. Then Kearney was tugging her to the side, beneath it, back even more until her calves hit a coffee table and a flashlight switched on and all fell silent once again.

A man stood before them, dressed in black with a crooked mask pulled over his head and glazed eyes gleaming in the light he shone onto his own face.

She found relief unfurling within her when she noted the lack of joy, of satisfaction shining in his gaze. She could rule out a psychotic serial killer out only for blood. And the anger flickering like firelight was aimed not at her, but at Kearney.

Her gaze fell again, just for a second, past their captor's leg to where her gun sat on the hardwood floor, past that to where her phone did the same. The screen had gone dark, the call disconnected, and she wondered how long it had taken before Castle hung up. Before panic had him abandoning his desperate attempts for a response and rushing to bring her help instead.

There were red lights flashing outside, a silent promise that he'd succeeded at that, at least.

She clenched a hand around nothing, longing for her phone in her hand so she could dial his number, breathe reassurances to him, if only through a call. So she could tell him that the bullet was lodged in the wall, not her chest. Get his help so she could save herself, and make him promise not to do anything stupid, before the next shot lodged itself somewhere else.

But her phone was too far, daydreams merely a reprieve from the reality of her situation, and she let them both go with a sigh tumbling from her lips.

She looked back at the gleaming black eyes behind the mask. He was staring at her now.


	2. Chapter 2

The sirens had been turned off, silenced as more members of the NYPD arrived and the need to announce their presence faded. The flashing red and blue of their squad cars had faded to darkness, too, on all but one car that had colors gleaming in the house's windows.

Esposito took in the scene from where he leaned against his car, police presence alive in a subtle way. There were no leads, no SWAT team strapping on equipment or lively attempts to make contact with Beckett and Kearney's captor, no new arrivals or exits to a scene of constant conversation but no action.

He glanced forward to where Beckett's car was still parked, hearing Ryan's recap of what Castle had heard over the phone in his head. They'd tracked the Senator's phone and Beckett's; both were still in the house and nobody could reach them. Nothing was right, but they couldn't help them. Not without a lead, and they didn't have one.

A sigh heaved at his chest, regret seeping into his lungs as his gaze swept across the locked front door no one dared breach. He forced himself to look away, turning instead to the car window against which he leaned. Richie sat beyond it, feet propped up against the center console and head tilted back, attention occupied not by a crime scene laced with too much emotion, but whatever game he was playing on his 3DS.

Esposito wished, for a moment, that he could be as oblivious.

But he couldn't be, so his hand tightened around his phone, dialing the number he'd had a uniform back at the precinct text him before bringing the device to his ear.

"Hello?" came the voice from the other end.

"Mr. Donoghue?" he said, getting a hum of confirmation from the man. "There's been a new development in our case, and I need to ask you a few questions."

"Did you finally realize that my daughter's innocent?"

"Not quite," he responded, though his gaze returned to the house and his gut twisted with growing certainty that she may have been. "A member of our team and Senator Kearney have been taken hostage in his home. We need to know if there's anyone your daughter may have had as an accomplice."

There was a sigh from the other end, a rustle in the silence before Mr. Donoghue spoke. "She didn't do this, Detective."

Esposito swallowed a sigh in response, said instead, "But if she did."

Mr. Donoghue was silent for a moment, hesitant, and Esposito anticipated being shut down, the call ending without so much as a hint of a lead. Or a dismissal of one he was never counting on in the first place. But it didn't come.

"She wouldn't have had an accomplice," said Mr. Donoghue. "Patricia is too smart; she would have known the risks of them chickening out on her or turning her in to the cops." He paused, heaved a breath so loud Esposito could hear the emotion laced within it. "So if someone's holding one of your guys and the Senator hostage, she wasn't involved."

"Okay," said Espo. "Thank you, Mr. Donoghue."

The call ended with that, with Esposito's gaze sweeping over the house once more. Though his mind whispered of the possibility that Mr. Donoghue was merely lying to make his daughter seem innocent, there was a sinking feeling in his gut telling him they had the wrong person. And if they had the wrong person—

Someone else had done it. Someone who had evaded their attention thus far, but had still managed to find a way into a Senator's home, past a locked gate and security systems. Still knew where to find Mrs. Kearney, knew where the kid—

 _The kid._

If the killer knew exactly where to find Mrs. Kearney, he must have followed the family, _stalked_ them. And while it was easier for a stranger to go unnoticed in an adult's life, he could be evident to children.

To Kearney's child.

Hand falling to tuck his phone back into his pocket, he sneaked one final glance at Richie, who was still playing his video game, before turning to run his idea by Ryan.

* * *

"Who are you?"

Beckett's voice wavered on the tip of her tongue, as she flattened a palm to the round of her baby bump to distract herself from the emptiness of her hand, remind herself that no irrevocable harm had happened yet.

The man kept staring at her, and though the lighting was dim, she could see the mask drawing tighter over his jaw as he seemed to clench it. Could see the uncertainty shining in the eyes staring back at her, a tinge of regret gleaming behind it that had hope budding in her chest, hesitant when it reached her lips.

"If you let this end here, I can help you."

He shook his head, staring down at his feet for a moment before looking back up. The gun was still perched in his hand, aimed at Kearney and jerked in her direction when their gazes met. "I don't want to hurt you," he said. "I don't care about you. I want him."

The gun shifted, and she swallowed back the bubble of relief in her chest as she followed its path, found it pointed at Kearney's chest instead.

He was leaning back, handprints staining the glass surface of his coffee table as he tried to distance himself from their captor and the gun he was aiming. Beckett watched his jaw clench, saw the fear gleaming in his eyes, listened as silence dragged on as though each man expected the other to speak first.

"You don't get it," said the gunman. "You _don't_ get it. I have to– You have to _understand._ I have to make you. You don't get it. "

Kearney swallowed, still didn't say a word, didn't ask for clarification or offer an explanation for what he didn't understand.

Kate was certain she knew what it was, could see the case building before her eyes, shaped by the same motive as the wrongful arrest they'd thought had completed their investigation. Inspired by a new version of the lack of empathy she faced too often as she sat across from someone in the interrogation room at the precinct.

Their captor, however, seemed focused on Kearney despite the man's silence, determined to break him, clearly desiring _something_ that required him terrified but without a bullet lodged in his body.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, turning her attention from the staring contest taking place at her side and back to to where her phone sat on the ground mere feet away.

Perhaps, if their captor's attention was so occupied by Kearney, she could get to it.

Maybe she could call Castle and the boys, help them put a true end to this.

* * *

"Yo, Ryan."

Espo's partner turned away from the group of Emergency Services Unit personnel at the sound of his name, brows creased and jaw clenched in worry. The ESU technicians understood that it marked the end of their conversation, leaving to speak amongst themselves, motioning to the house with confusion etched across their faces.

Espo swallowed back the regret welling in his throat, the fear that began to bubble in his chest at the knowledge that they were struggling. That finding out what was happening inside the house before going in might be more difficult than they'd imagined.

But he turned his gaze back to Ryan before his concern could silence the instinct driving him forward, forcing a small upturn of his lips before he spoke. "I had an idea."

"Okay."

"What if whoever's behind this stalked the family, to know their schedule and all?" he said. "And if they did, maybe the Kearney kid noticed someone out of the ordinary in their life."

Ryan nodded, a hint of relief smoothing the creases of his brow at a possible lead. "You want to talk to him?"

Esposito shrugged in response. "Couldn't hurt, right?"

"Right," said Ryan, with a quick bob of his head, a brief pause. "You know you don't have to run this by me, right?"

"You're the acting captain," he responded, glancing at the house, _while Beckett's in there_ going unspoken, knowledge shining brightly in Ryan's eyes when he turned back to face his partner.

"Since when? It's always been you."

He swallowed, his response coming out harsher than he'd intended. "Since I made a stupid decision and lost us both promotions."

Ryan opened his mouth to respond, but words died on his lips when Esposito's name was called from a few feet away, ringing through the air with a tinge of panic that had both him and his partner turning to face its source.

Aragon was coming towards him, smile absent. "Where's Richie?"

The jerk of his head towards his car was automatic, the spill of words from his lips without hesitation. "In my car, playing video games."

"You brought him to a _crime scene_?" she snapped, eyes darting to the car. But then her shoulders sagged, with acceptance or resignation or something in between. "You had to. It's okay, but I can't leave," she said. "And he shouldn't be here."

The words were falling from the tip of his tongue before he'd registered the thought, spilling into the silence and wiping the regret from Aragon's face in an instant. Making sure he couldn't possibly take them back. "He could come with me."

"You're leaving?"

"I have to follow a lead," he explained. "I'm going to pick up Kearney's kid and take him back to the precinct. Richie could come, too, hang out at the precinct until you're free?"

Aragon's smile only widened, eyes gleaming with gratitude. "You'd take him?"

Even Esposito was shocked by the certainty in his response. "Of course."

"Okay." She nodded, reaching over to squeeze his arm. "I have to go, but thank you."

Ryan lingered at his side as Aragon walked away, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Espo's when she disappeared around the corner of the house.

"Go follow your lead," he said. "And look after the kids."

Espo's responding nod was numb, steps automatic as he returned to his car and slipped into the driver's seat. He offered Richie a quick explanation entwined with instructions to buckle his seatbelt before turning the key in the ignition, pressing his foot to the gas.

He turned to glance at the house one last time before driving away.

* * *

Castle stared at the house. At the extravagant size of the building, windows framed in designs full of character, door stark white and welcoming if not for the knowledge of what might be going on beyond it. The garden between him and the large expanses of brick enclosing his wife was well groomed, dotted with spots of color.

If not for the circumstances, he might have found it beautiful. Might not have stared at the door with every ounce of hatred in his body rising to the surface, drowned only by his fear, by his regret, by the bubble of bile up his throat at the thought of all they _didn't_ know.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, though, tearing his gaze from the building before him, down to a caller ID photo that would surely have him—

He swiped his thumb across the screen in an instant, breath caught in his chest only to escape in a rushed stutter.

" _Kate?_ "

"Rick," came her response, a breath awash in relief that had his heart stilling for a second, flooding his lungs on an inhale. "I'm okay. We're okay."

He jumped to his feet, gaze flicking to the door before identifying Ryan in the crowd of officers surrounding the house, his phone still pressed to his ear. "What happened?" he asked, reaching Ryan's side, nudging him with his shoulder. He held the phone out between them, hitting the button to put her on speakerphone.

She didn't offer a response to his question, though, uttering a question of her own in its place. "Are Ryan and Espo there with you?"

"I am," said Ryan.

She hummed. "Listen, I have you on speakerphone so that John Doe knows you're not threatening him, okay?" she said, and both Castle and Ryan mumbled their agreement. "Nobody's been shot. Kearney and I, we're okay." She paused, and when she spoke again, he knew it wasn't to him or Ryan. "Would you like to explain yourself to my team? They might be more willing to help if they know why you're doing this?"

Silence came over the line for a second, before another voice broke through, shaking and weak but there all the same. "I want to talk to him."

"About what?" asked Ryan.

"About– about _it,_ " said the man on the other end. "I need him to understand. He can't– he can't hurt so many people. He doesn't _understand._ "

Castle's jaw clenched at the words, realization twisting painfully in his gut. His wife was paying the price for Kearney's ignorance about issues she would _surely_ side with the gunman on. She agreed with him and yet she was trapped in there, and they couldn't do anything about it. Not now.

"If you just want to talk to Kearney, why don't you all come out? We can arrange for you to talk," said Ryan, words slow and certain, and Castle found himself wishing on every star in the sky that it would work.

It didn't.

The gunman had barely uttered a syllable when a third voice came over the phone, sharp and tainted with disgust and ruining every chance of progress they had with the words hissed desperately over the line.

"I'm not going to speak to a _lunatic._ "

It took barely a second for chaos to erupt, for Beckett to be hissing her annoyance at Kearney and the gunman to be rambling incoherently, something about not being a lunatic, about Kearney not understanding.

But Castle only truly grasped one phrase, one that had his blood running cold and tears stinging behind his eyes.

"You– The police, you guys, come in and I'll shoot."


	3. Chapter 3

" _You– The police, you guys, come in and I'll shoot."_

A breath of apology passed her lips, barely audible even to her own ears, as the words echoed in the room, threats shooting to her gut and inciting a painful burn of fear there, and her thumb hit the button to end the call. Her hands were shaking, nerves making her gaze trace the gun's every move as she tucked her phone back into her pocket before raising her hands in defense.

Instinct drew her forward, a few steps placing her between their attacker, still rambling incoherently, and Kearney. "Nobody has to shoot anybody," she said, her voice steadier than the race of her heart. "Listen, just let me talk to my team. We'll figure this out."

"I told you, I won't-"

"Shut _up_ , Kearney," she hissed, words quiet under their attacker's booming voice, turning to glare at him over her shoulder. "You're not helping!"

"He can't," their captor rambled, "he can't listen. He doesn't know what it's like."

It was enough to draw her attention from Kearney's fear-masked insensitivity, back to the words falling from their captor's lips, bleeding together in his rush to speak them. He was shaking his head, pacing back and forth in the few feet of space between each edge of the archway entrance to the living room. His hand was clenched so tightly around his gun that his knuckles were blanched, hand shaking as he waved the weapon around.

She swallowed back the hitch in her breath, forced words in its place. "What doesn't he know?" she asked, slowly, trying to calm him down.

"Why the hell are you trying to talk to him?" Kearney snapped, standing from his perch on the coffee table and taking a step closer. "He's not making any sense!"

"Will you shut up for once?" Kate shot back, a warning hand landing on his arm, fingers tightening with her message, with desperate hope that he would understand how important it was that he stop talking. "You're going to get us killed."

"But he-"

Kate froze at the click of the gun, Kearney's words dying on the tip of his tongue. His eyes drifted over her shoulder, and she turned around, felt the tendrils of fear curl at her spine at the cold look in their captor's eyes.

"Listen to Captain Beckett," he said, voice suddenly low and steady. "She understands."

"Understands what?" Kate asked, forgetting Kearney with a gun aimed in her direction, a man ready to shoot pointing it at her. Their captor merely shook his head, the motion slow, still as unsteady as his demeanor. "What do I understand?"

"Everything."

"About what?" When he remained silent, Kate stepped even closer, hand lifting to hover in the space between them, not a touch, but a show of support all the same. Her eyes landed on his covered face, willing him to lower the gun, to give them a few more seconds of _almost_ comfort. Of the best thing they could get given the circumstances. "Talk to me. What's your name?"

He shifted his gaze to her, head still shaking as he spoke. "I'm not telling you my name."

"Okay, can I call you John?" He nodded, and she continued. "All right, John, you can call me Kate. I want to help you, but I need your help too. I need to know what this is about."

"It's about him," he said, jerking his head towards Kearney. "It's about him and what he's doing."

Kearney let out a strangled groan, protest evident in it, and if not for her determination to keep John calm, she would have leaned back, dealt him a kick to the shin. Or shot him herself.

"Tell me about it, John," she said. "You said he was hurting people. In what way?"

'John' tugged at the bottom of his mask, sliding his finger beneath, a move Kate recognized as discomfort. The mask must be hot; she could see the beads of sweat trickle down his neck. "That mask must be uncomfortable. Why don't you take it off?" She lifted her hand when he trained the gun on her again, took a half step back. "Just to talk," she assured him. She breathed a silent sigh of relief when he nodded and lowered the gun.

'John' seemed to consider, then curled his fingers around the bottom of the mask.

* * *

Adam Kearney was a shy kid. From the moment Esposito picked him and his aunt up from her house, that much was obvious. He was silent when his aunt called him to the door and told him to get dressed because they needed to go to the precinct, and for the entire car ride as Esposito tried to vaguely fill Mrs. Hoffman— Senator Kearney's sister— in on the status of their investigation.

Esposito wasn't sure if it was better or worse than a child who loved to make conversation. If he was grateful for the escape from the barrage of questions that usually came with talkative young kids, or if he longed for Adam to have the ability to begin the conversation for him.

Richie was a fairly quiet kid too, and looking at Adam, Espo wondered if that was part of why he found himself struggling around Richie, too.

Mrs. Hoffman was sitting in the bullpen, making conversation with a uniformed officer. He'd left Richie with LT upon arrival, knowing Marisa would trust him to look after her son when no one else was available. And he'd led Adam to the break room, offering him a snack from their limited supply and a glass of water like they would do with a witness or a grieving family member.

He dropped into the seat opposite Adam, watching the child's feet kick back and forth where they hovered over the floor. Words stayed trapped in his chest, the usual utterances of apologies and quiet, direct questions not suiting the small boy sitting in front of him.

He looked back up at Adam; wide, curious eyes stared back at him. The first question formed on the tip of his tongue, brain finally formulating a plan to first find out how much Adam's aunt had told him before breaking any somber news.

But Adam spoke first.

"That kid who was in the car with us?" he asked. "Is he your son?"

Esposito found his gaze drifting to the break room windows, to where Richie was showing LT whatever video game he was playing, before turning back to Adam. "No. He's my... friend's son," he answered, pausing as Adam nodded in response but didn't say another word. "His mom is, uh, actually helping me figure out what happened to your mom."

His breath stayed caught in his chest as he watched Adam's eyes go wide, lips pinching down into a frown. "I thought you caught the bad guy."

He swallows thickly, nodded his head. "I thought we did, too, but turns out the person we thought was the bad guy was actually a good guy," he explained. "So now we need to find the real bad guy, and I need your help. Do you think you can help me?"

Adam's eyes were brimming with tears, hands twisting in his lap, and his response was silent, nothing but a nod.

"Okay. Thank you, Adam," said Esposito. "I need to know if you've noticed anyone strange talking to you lately. Maybe someone you don't know talked to you randomly? Or someone you do know has been talking to you more often?"

He watched as Adam's brow furrowed at the question, hands fidgeting even more. "Talking to me about what?"

Esposito offered a smile he hoped was reassuring, swallowing past the lump in his throat before explaining. "They might have asked about your parents, like your dad's career, or how you got to school."

Adam's eyes went wide at the words. Espo felt his gut twist, hope welling in his chest even though he knew a child's memory wasn't the most reliable of leads.

But when Adam spoke, he still let himself believe it could be _something._

"There is one person."

* * *

The scene outside the Kearney house was still terribly quiet, tech experts continuing to try to figure out how to get eyes and ears in the building. Cops spoke in hushed tones, and even Castle's desperate requests for information had ceased since Beckett had hung up their phone call.

Ryan found himself leaning against his car next to where Castle was sitting in the passenger seat, head hanging in defeat. And though words of comfort flickered in his mind, trying to be spoken, Ryan joined in the silence.

Until his phone rang, blaring from his pocket and making him turn his attention away from the quiet action of the scene, making Castle jump from his thoughts.

He scrambled from the device, fumbling with it when he saw Esposito's contact picture lighting up the screen, heard his voice come over the speaker as Ryan put the call on speakerphone.

"Do you have anything?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries when Beckett was locked in a stranger's house with a gunman threatening to shoot. When everyone was desperate for information.

"My hunch was right," said Espo. "We have a suspect and it looks pretty promising."

"Who?"

There was a rustle of paper over the line, a quick breath before Esposito was speaking. "Name's Darrel Burgess," said Esposito. "He matches the security cam footage we had: tall, slim, blond. Adam Kearney identified him as a janitor at the school who's been talking to him more often lately. Apparently Mr. Burgess has been asking about how Adam gets to school."

Ryan felt his breath catch, eyes drifting up to windows covered in closed curtains, hiding the killer, Beckett, and Kearney behind them.

"And Ryan?"

He hummed, turning away from the house to see Castle staring at the point his gaze had just vacated. Esposito's voice came over the line again.

"He was at the crime scene."

* * *

Beckett felt her breath catch, chest tighten, from the moment the mask came off. Her hand tightened around the hem of her shirt, pulling it tighter as though the fabric drawn over her baby bump could offer any semblance of comfort. The other, still hovering between herself and 'John'— no, not John— was shaking even more, and she let it fall only so that he wouldn't notice.

She expected Kearney to react, too. To show some sort of recognition, some emotion at the shift in their situation. To either indicate that he knew who they were looking at, or knew how monumental it was that he'd taken off the mask.

But Kearney stayed as quiet as their captor, forcing her to look back at him to make sure he was okay, to find him staring intently at the man standing before them both.

She turned to do the same, catch the same dark eyes that had been staring at her through the holes in the mask. They seemed so much less chilled, less piercing, now that she could see the rest of his face, the messy blond hair atop his head, the lines drawing at his features like life was weighing even the corners of his eyes down.

Based on the incoherence she'd witnessed, she wouldn't have been surprised if that was exactly how he felt.

"I know you," she said, a breath that had Kearney reacting at last, gasping behind her. She made sure to motion for him to be quiet before he could start shouting about how she knew the _lunatic_ , or whatever dismissive term he would draw from he repertoire that time. "You were at the scene."

Their captor shrugged, didn't say a word in denial or confirmation.

But she knew, recognized the face, the drawn features she'd originally attributed to the stress of witnessing the murder of an innocent person in a school parking lot. It hadn't been that at all.

"You said you were a witness," she said. "You're a janitor at the school."


	4. Chapter 4

"You work at my kid's school?" hissed Kearney, jumping up from where he'd been sitting on his coffee table. His hand was raised, finger pointed, face blotchy and angry red. From some perspective, she could see him being almost as intimidating a man with gun - the threat, the _hatred_ so evident in his tone, so etched into his features, that she should have expected the words that came next. "Why would they let someone like _you_ work there?"

She was kicking him before she could think better of it, digging the toe of her shoe into his shin, a hiss falling from the tip of her tongue as tension returned to their captor's shoulders.

She forced the "maybe because people like _you_ refuse to let him get the help he needs" to die in her chest, turning instead to their captor, offering a half-hearted smile despite the terror returning to tie knots in her gut, make her breath come less easily. "I know he doesn't understand, but I'm _sure_ he'll let you explain," she said.

Maybe if she was pointed enough, Kearney would _finally_ get the message.

He seemed to, because the protests she expected never came, silence stretching until their captor was nodding his head, accepting her offer.

She motioned to the couch at her side, still forcing a smile she hoped was reassuring. "Why don't you sit down?" she suggested, voice low and steady, _calm._ Hopefully enough to keep everyone quiet, to keep their captor from sinking back into a series of incoherent rambles, to keep Kearney from hissing out insults that would only make the whole situation worse.

Their captor did sit, sinking into the cushions as though the weight on his shoulders was forcing him into them. His gun was still clutched in his hand, the safety still switched off, but his fingers were no longer clenched tightly around it, his hand no longer waving it in the air to pair with the threats that had previously fallen incoherently from his lips.

He was quiet, at last. Enough so for her to turn away, motion for Kearney to come sit with her.

"What's your name?" she asked their captor after Kearney had situated himself on the coffee table. "It'll make it easier to get your message across if we know you a little better."

The man swallowed, mumbled his response. "Darrel."

"Okay, Darrel," she said, "what do you want to tell Senator Kearney? He's listening now, right?" She turned to look at him over her shoulder, brows furrowed in a message he seemed to miss yet again.

"Why should I?"

She jabbed her elbow into his arm. "You're a politician, right?" she asked, making the creases on his forehead deepen. The _duh_ went unspoken as he nodded his response. "So your job is to listen to the people you represent. Darrel has a message he'd like to share with you. _Listen._ "

Kearney nodded at last, still without a word as they both turned their attention back to Darrel.

"Go ahead, he's listening," she prompted.

Darrel eyed Kearney for a moment, jaw clenched, fingers tightening briefly around his gun. She felt her breath burning in her chest, trapped until she watched his grip loosen, the slight nod of his head. Darrel turned away, just for a moment, to stare at the closed living-room curtains, before looking back up at Kearney, blue eyes locking intently on the senator.

She felt Kearney's shoulders tense, but sympathy for his worries was difficult to muster after all that had happened.

"You don't understand," said Darrel.

Kearney didn't respond, silence weighted with their anticipation for whatever Darrel would say next. Until a long moment passed and instead of sitting and waiting, he spoke on a stutter. "W-What don't I understand?"

"Why it's so important."

There was no pause this time, no draw of silence that had her inside twisting as she witnessed this staring contest, between the man at her side and the man who had the power to kill them both. The baby was kicking, too, evidence of life lingering beneath the palm she rested on her baby bump.

Enough to keep her breathing steady as she listened.

"W-Why what's so important, D-Darrel?"

She watched as Darrel's hand slipped from around his gun, both palms coming to rest on his knees as he leaned forward, gaze still locked intently on Kearney's. "You don't understand how important it is that people like me get help."

* * *

"You have _nothing_?" hissed Ryan.

Castle winced at his tone, the desperation tinged with heated anger seeping into it. It was evidence enough that things weren't going according to any plan, that Ryan was letting his emotions be communicated so clearly, hissing at other NYPD employees the way Beckett would if things were reversed.

The head of the tech department shook his head. His mood had been somber from the moment he'd walked up to Castle and Ryan, but it darkened then, as though the confirmation solidified it, set it in stone as one of few options from then until Kate and Kearney were free and Burgess was in handcuffs.

Or… the alternative Castle wouldn't let himself think about.

He blinked, gaze refocusing just as Ryan brought his hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose. A frown drew at the corners of his mouth, at the features of everyone at the scene, and Castle forced himself to look away, to let his gaze linger on the road beyond Kearney's open gate as he listened to Ryan and the other man's conversation.

"What do you expect me to do with _nothing_?" said Ryan.

"I don't know," came the response. "What I do know is that this is an old home, and that your hostages aren't near any entrance we managed to tap. So, without entering the home, which we're under orders not to do, my people have no information for you besides that they're not close enough to any entrances for us to pick up audio."

Castle swallowed back a sigh, forced himself not to get too angry with Ryan for making them wait this long for a lead that hadn't come. He watched, instead, as a car zipped by on the street, and as a second one slowed to a stop at the gate, turned in to their crime scene. Even though the driveway was long, the sky dark as the evening dragged on, he recognized the car as Esposito's, found the slightest bit of hope budding in his chest.

"Don't go in," Ryan spoke behind him. "Keep listening at the entrances in case they move. We'll follow up on another lead and keep you posted if we need anything, okay?"

There was a hum, and then Ryan was turning to face the same way Castle was. From the corner of his eye, Castle saw his lips part, making him imagine an apology for their lack of progress on the tip of his tongue, but nothing was spoken. They were both watching Espo climb out of his car with a folder in hand and a hopeful upturn to his lips.

"I have everything we know about Burgess!" he announced, voice booming over the rustle of action surrounding them.

He handed the folder off to Ryan, who rifled through it quickly, gaze landing pointedly on the page featuring Burgess's last psychological evaluation, right before he'd been hired at the school. Castle glanced at it, skimming the words explaining his employment record, his history installing security systems, and that the man had been struggling with some anxiety and depression, but wasn't deemed a danger to himself or others at the time.

He glanced back up at the house. Things had obviously changed since then.

"Do you guys have anything?" asked Esposito, as Ryan slapped the folder shut, reaching back to set it down on the makeshift work station they'd created. There was a phone there that hadn't been touched since they'd first arrived and gotten no response, a computer that Ryan had used to open Esposito's original emails with Burgess's DMV information and phone records, and a pile of flashlights that uniforms were coming to get as the night drew even darker.

"No," said Ryan. "Not besides this."

"But it might be enough," said Esposito, voice lilting with as much hope as anyone at the scene could muster.

Castle found it was enough to have the same thing sparking in his chest, to have his eyes tracing the sharp lines of Kearney's home with renewed conviction that he wouldn't remember them without also recalling the greatest level of sinking regret he'd ever known.

"Now that we know who he is, it could be easier to negotiate," continued Espo. "Or, at least to convince him to answer the phone."

Ryan nodded. Castle watched as he reached for the phone, typed in Kearney's home phone number as it was scribbled on the post-it he'd stuck to the table during a feeble attempt at distraction.

It rang. Once, twice, three times. And another three times, until a recording of Kearney's voice was coming over the line and a beep was sounding into the almost silent night air.

Uniforms had gathered around them, a crowd listening with bated breath as Ryan spoken.

"Hello. This is Detective Ryan. The NYPD has a message for you, Darrel."

* * *

Her breath had first caught the moment the phone had started ringing. Next to her, Kearney had gone tense once again, eyes shifting around the room to where the landline sat on one of the end tables, blinking green as the call came in. But Darrel hadn't acknowledged it, much like the first time it had gone off when his anger was still burning in his eyes and his hand was still wrapped tightly around his gun.

She listened, fingers itching to hold the ringing device in her hand, pick up and listen to what she was sure would be the voice of one of her team members. But they curled around the fabric of her shirt instead, gaze locked on the phone until it stopped ringing and a beep sounded instead.

Ryan's voice came next, steady and certain as he introduced himself, as he spoke Darrel's name.

That was when Darrel showed interest, shoulders tensing and fingers curling around the gun again. His gaze dropped from Kearney, whatever explanation of his stance on mental illness falling silent as they all listened.

" _We know you've been struggling. We know how important it is that Senator Kearney hears your message. But this isn't the way to go about it, Darrel_ ," she heard Ryan say. " _If you pick up the phone and talk to us, we can arrange a deal. We can get you the help you need and—_ "

"No!"

There was a bang, the couch jerking backwards as Darrel jumped to his feet. His hands were shaking, eyes blazing as he stared at the phone, gun pointed right at her chest as Ryan's voice continued to fill the space, the detective oblivious to the harm he was causing. To the fact that all sense of calm they'd gained had dissipated in an instant. Kearney was choking on nothing, covering his face with his hands. Darrel was looking around as though the walls were closing in, threatening to shoot if the cops came in as though Ryan could hear him.

Beckett found her own breath labored, but she flattened her hands against the table anyway, forced herself to her feet.

"What's wrong, Darrel?" she asked.

When he turned to her, his eyes were wild, never landing on her face, as shaky as his hold on his gun. "He doesn't get it. He doesn't _get_ it," he said, voice desperate and wavering with every word.

"What doesn't Detective Ryan get?"

Darrel looked at her, just for a second before he was following the lines of the curtains behind him with his gaze. "He doesn't– It's not just about _me_. It's– it's _him_." The gun landed on Kearney, lingering there for a moment until Darrel's shaking had him pointing it away again. "People need help. People _need_ help. And he– he needs to listen. He needs to know. He needs to understand. Nobody understands. Nobody _understands._ "

"I do."

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, but they had Darrel's hand stilling, his gaze snapping to hers, and she thought, for a moment, that perhaps they weren't a bad thing.

"You _can't_ ," he hissed. "You can't. You're–"

"I'm a cop," she finished for him, not sure that was what he'd intended on saying. "But I have PTSD. Do you know what that is? Post-traumatic stress disorder."

Darrel nodded, the response jerky but there all the same, forcing more words from her chest before her mind could formulate them.

"Six years ago, I was shot in the chest," she told him. "And I've had PTSD ever since. For months afterwards, all my dreams were nightmares. I couldn't sleep. But waking up wasn't any better. _Everything_ was terrifying. Voices in my head told me it was. Everything was going to hurt me, right? Nothing was okay. Do you know what that's like?"

Tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes, staining his cheeks in streaks of moisture that made him look far more human than she'd ever seen him. Far more vulnerable than she imagined a man standing tall with a gun aimed at her could ever look.

"It's terrible, isn't it? It's so terrible you start to wonder if it's even worth it. If everything's going to be so scary, is life even worth living, right?"

He nodded. "I can't– It's not–" he choked.

"I know," she breathed. "And I know something else. I know what it's like to need help, Darrel. I do. And I know there are so many other people out there who need it, too. And I know that Kearney doesn't get that, but that he _has_ to because it's people like him, not people like you and me, who get to decide this."

He coughed, a choked sob escaping his chest as he nodded, desperate and rushed. "It's not _fair._ He doesn't understand."

"I know he doesn't," she said. "I also know that I'm one of the lucky ones. I'm a cop, right? So they give people like me help. They give it to me because they think I deserve it more, but they forget about people like you. They forget about so many people who need it just as much, who need it _more._ And that's wrong, Darrel. It is. I know it is."

He nodded again, just a constant bob of his head now. The gun still shaky in his hand. "It is. It _is. It_ is."

"And now that he's heard your message, I'm sure Kearney knows, too." She sucked in a breath, turned to the man still sitting on his coffee table, knuckles blanching where they were clenched tight around the edge. " _Right_ , Kearney?"

She just needed this. Just needed him to agree so Darrel would think he understood and she could get the gun free, save them both. She could–

"It's different," said Kearney. "You're a _cop._ "

She felt something inside her collapse.

And a shot went off.


	5. Chapter 5

Everything went still. Uniforms froze. Ryan's voice faded to silence. Esposito tensed. Castle felt his own heart halt mid-beat, battered and bruised against the cage of his ribs, the moment the shot sounded through the air.

And then everything was a rustle of movement. Tech was trying to decipher what had happened right before the shot. Uniforms were surrounding the house, trying to get a view inside. Ryan's voice came with renewed fervor, desperately begging Darrel to just _pick up the phone_ and tell them everyone was okay. Esposito was calling uniforms back over as he rushed to his car.

He pulled bulletproof vests out of the trunk, threw them haphazardly in Castle and Ryan's general direction.

Somehow, Castle heard Ryan slap the phone onto the receiver, a sigh of defeat escaping his lips just before an announcement fell from them. "We're going in," he said. "It's too dangerous to wait."

Castle was already swiping a bulletproof vest from the ground, bringing it to his chest with practiced motions. He strapped it to himself with clumsy fingers, hands shaking to match every breath that stuttered from his lungs, every beat of his heart that threatened to be the last. The Kevlar was barely in place, not quite fully covering his chest, but the ties were annoying and taking _too long_ and Kate was in that house with a man with a gun that had just gone off and he didn't _care._

He left it half undone, rushing towards the house despite Ryan's warning following his every step.

A uniform helped him break the door down, and the grateful smile he would usually offer was nothing but a blur as he turned away, rushed past the threshold.

His wife's name was desperate on his lips.

* * *

"Kate? _Kate?_ "

She heard him before she saw him, eyes still on the tip of Darrel's gun, aimed at the wall behind her, narrowly missing Kearney's head. Until Rick's footsteps could be heard and drew her attention from the severity of the situation to her husband, standing in the archway between the entrance and the living room, eyes wild and motions desperate but _there._

He didn't have a gun. He barely had a vest.

Warm certainty that things would be okay shouldn't have been curling at her gut, but it was.

Until Darrel was turning too, gun still in hand. He'd grown steady since the shot, too much like the man who'd first cornered them in the living room, eyes cold with hatred and stance certain of his every step. The only evidence of the vulnerability he'd shown was the tear streaks still staining his cheeks.

He was dangerous. And he pointed his gun at Castle's chest.

She watched him freeze, his eyes locked on the end of the gun pointed right at him. Right at the spot where she knew a scar marred his skin, beautiful evidence of their survival, but a reminder of a terrible day all the same. Right at the most vulnerable piece of him, the part that had him standing still, staring with wide eyes and barely breathing, that had given him a diagnosis of PTSD to match her own.

She knew what it was like. How it felt to have the world bringing you back to a terrible moment in time. To have voices in her head like ghosts of a cemetery stained with her blood. To have them steal her thoughts, twist them into nightmares while she stood there, wide awake and powerless. To have her logic stolen as effortlessly as her breath by the one thing holding such power over her: her mind.

And she knew how many people had helped her. Knew she'd been lucky not only because of the therapy she'd gotten, but the people who'd been there for her. A team to offer support and help and a partner to offer words of encouragement in her ear when she needed them most.

She knew what she had to do.

"Rick!" she called, loud and hopeful and so purposefully unlike that night when their kitchen floor almost became their deathbed. "You can do this. You got this." It was all a breath, all a single tendril of hope that she clung to as she watched blue eyes flicker with life, watched his chest hitch with realization. "You're okay. We're okay. You can handle this, Rick. You know how to do this."

He blinked, his eyes warm again as they turned away from the gun and landed on her. A hint of relief curled at the corner of his mouth, his gaze flicking from her face to the swell of her baby bump.

She blinked, and there was a clatter of motion, a rustle of air around her. Pounding footsteps echoed in her ears, ended with a _bang_ and when her gaze refocused, Castle was on the ground.

So was Darrel.

She blinked, staring at her husband, jaw clenched and weight on Darrel from the way they'd landed after Castle had tackled him.

Shock stilled her movements for a moment, until the sound of metal clattering against wood sounded in the room and she was rushing to walk towards it, forcing herself to bend down the best she could until her fingers had closed around the handle of the gun, her thumb switching the safety back on.

Castle was still struggling with Darrel, making sure the man stayed pinned to the ground where he could cause no harm.

Kearney was still sitting on the coffee table, staring, barely breathing. Sympathy came and went in a blur, her attention stolen by her husband once again.

"You don't threaten my wife or my child," he was hissing, over and over again as his one hand held Darrel's wrist harder against the ground and the other pressed to his chest so hard she was sure it would leave a bruise.

The rest of the NYPD team had already flooded the scene. Ryan lifted his handcuffs from his vest, offering them to her, but she shook her head, a hand running over her baby bump as she watched him bend down next to Castle and Darrel.

She watched as he closed the first cuff around Darrel's wrist, the click of metal enough to break Castle from his trance. He grabbed Darrel's other arm, brought it to Ryan so he could cuff his wrists together, finally make sure he couldn't hurt anyone.

And then she rested a hand on Castle's shoulder instead, forcing him up so he was sitting, separated from Darrel and in front of her instead.

"We're okay," she promised. "We're all okay. You saved us."

His smile split across his face, wide and blinding, but she only saw it for a second before he was engulfing her in a hug.

* * *

Kearney and his son reunited with a hug that had her forgetting, just for a moment, about all the reasons she wasn't fond of the senator, all the times he'd almost gotten her killed, and all the harm his stances could do. It was sweet and warm, and a collective sigh seemed to fall over a precinct full of exhausted cops as they watched Adam bury his face in his father's shoulder, wrap his arms around his neck, and mumble something inaudible into Kearney's shoulder.

And she felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth at the realization that it was truly over. Senator Kearney and his son were safe. They had Darrel in holding, his story told and printed in reports from the initial days of planning to the final moments during which he had hidden from the cops during their sweep before entering the home.

Patricia Donoghue, on the other hand, was free with a referral to a psychiatrist, the evidence against her cleared, the ballistics almost-match falling into the negative 5%, confirmed by her heart-wrenching confession that she'd taken her father's gun with intentions to end her own life.

They'd watched her reunite with her father, watched them leave together, as tears had stained the shoulder of his coat. Beckett could only hope that Patricia would get the help she needed, that Mr. Donoghue wouldn't lose another child to such a struggle.

Then the Senator was setting Adam back on the ground, patting his head with a promise to be back in just a few minutes, and turning to her instead.

"Can I speak with you, Captain Beckett?"

She nodded, forcing a hum from her chest. Her hand slipped from where it was resting in Castle's, weight lifting from where she was leaning against his chest, as she led the senator to her office and closed the door behind them both. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

He offered a smile, the kind she could imagine him offering the crowd from a podium at an event. "I wanted to thank you for saving us in there." He paused, turned his gaze back to the bullpen where people had gathered around Adam and Richie, who were playing video games at Esposito's desk. "Your husband, too."

"We were doing our jobs," she told him, the upturn of her lips only half-genuine. "But you're welcome." It crossed her mind again that Kearney might be able to help get Ryan and Esposito into the sergeant's exam, now that he clearly felt indebted to her. But the Commissioner might not look kindly on Beckett attempting to circumvent his punishment, and so, reluctantly, she held her tongue.

She expected Kearney to leave then, sweep from her office and bring his son back to his sister's home, where there were no bullet holes disguised with tape. But he lingered, staring over her shoulder a moment before speaking again.

"You agree with him, don't you?" he asked. "With Darrel?"

She hesitated, formulating her response carefully before speaking. "I don't think killing a woman and taking two people hostage is the way to go about communicating your message," she responded. "But I wasn't lying to him when I told him I understood." She swallowed, looked past Kearney to where Adam was sitting in Espo's desk chair, watching Richie play his game. The lump lingered in her throat, words too heavy to hold back falling from his lips. "I can only hope you will, too, one day."

Senator Kearney stared at her for a moment, and turned to follow her gaze. "Do you think he's going to be okay?"

She shrugged, knowing he wasn't looking at her. "I don't know," she answered. "But I do know that my mom died when I was nineteen, stabbed in an alley, and I wasn't okay. I needed help back then, before I was a cop." Her hands smoothed over her belly, gaze catching Kearney's. "I hope, Senator, that if you can't change your mind for people like Darrel, you can do it for your own son."

* * *

"You did good today," said Ryan.

Espo blinked, turning his attention from Adam and Richie to his partner instead, brow furrowed in confusion.

"With Richie," he explained. "And Adam. You did a good job." Ryan turned away as he spoke, to the kids sitting at Esposito's desk. A small smile curled at the corners of her mouth. "I know you're nervous about having a presence in his life, but there's no reason for you to be."

Esposito found himself smiling in response, turning away, too. It almost strange, to think of how terrified he'd been to look after Richie in the first place, of how _almost_ natural it had felt that night, bringing him to the precinct while Marisa was occupied.

"You know what else there's no reason for?" said Ryan.

"What?"

His partner bumped their shoulders, capturing Espo's attention again. The smile had eased, the look on his face more severe now. "For you to keep beating yourself up over the promotion thing," he said. "We've all made mistakes, Javi. And I chose to work with you and follow your instincts on that case. You need to stop acting like you don't deserve to succeed."

He would respond, if words didn't seem inadequate, if he didn't know they were unnecessary. Somewhere in his mind rang the memory that Ryan was considering leaving the NYPD, a longing for this to never end settling in his chest, but he couldn't bring himself to address that either. So he offered nothing but a smile, turning away to catch Marisa coming out of the break room, catching Richie's attention with a call of his name.

She looked up from her son, just for a moment, and offered Esposito a smile, too.

Ryan bumped his shoulder one last time. "Go," was all he said.

* * *

He was leaning against the wall outside Richie's bedroom door when Marisa came out, the smile on her face tinged with fatigue, with affection. She pulled the door closed behind her before stepping towards him, lifting a hand to curl at the fabric of his shirt. He reached for her waist, drew her closer so he could press a soft kiss to her lips.

Her forehead fell to rest against his jaw when she pulled away, smile still gracing her features, making him smile, too.

"Thank you," she breathed, fingers tripping across his shoulder until she was gripping the back of his neck.

"For what?" he asked.

"For looking out for him," she answered, motioning with her free hand to the closed bedroom door beside them. She pulled away, just enough for her to tilt his head down and catch his gaze. "It's tough, sometimes, being a cop and a mom. It was good to know you were looking out for him today."

He felt the smile bloom first, the urge to hold her in his arms coming next and making him draw her tighter to him. His arms wrapped around her middle, holding her close so her forehead was pressed to his neck and his lips were pressed to the top of her head.

"He's a good kid," he told her. "And you're a good mom _and_ a good cop."

She smiled, without pulling away so he could feel it against his neck, and stayed there for a long moment. He held her until his eyes drooped and she was sinking deeper into his arms and he realized he still didn't want to move.

That he could get used to this.

"We should go to bed," she whispered. "If you want to stay?"

His smile only widened, and he kissed the top of her head again. "I'd love to stay."

* * *

Kate smiled when she felt Castle sink into bed behind her, drawing closer until his arm was draped over her middle, palm splayed over the round of her baby bump. It was warm, his touch gentle and soothing the aching muscles still tense from the day, his lips dusting kisses to her shoulder and up her neck until she was giggling into the silence of their bedroom, reaching down to rest her hand over his.

"I'm glad you're okay," he whispered, punctuating the words with another kiss to her shoulder. He pressed his hand harder against her belly, enough that she knew he could feel their daughter's slight movements under his palm.

"Me too," she said, playing with his fingers on her stomach as she spoke. Her weight sank back into him, making him roll away and onto his back. She followed, adjusting herself so she was curled up on her other side, so she could see the smile spread across his face, the love shining brightly in his eyes. "It's thanks to you, you know. You saved us."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she was already pushing herself up, a hand resting on his chest and lips pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, smile splitting across her face when she felt him relax, accept it.

"Thank you," she breathed. "You were amazing."

She felt his swallow, the tensing of his jaw, the ripple in his chest. "I almost wasn't. I almost–"

"But you didn't," she interrupted. "You overcame it, Rick." She tilted her head back, made sure he was looking down at her when she continued. "I'm so proud of you."

He smiled back at her, craning his neck to press a kiss to her forehead, and another to her lips. "I'm proud of you, too," he whispered. "You did a great job of making sure you guys were safe, before I went in."

She kissed him again for that, until he was slipping from her grasp, sinking lower on the bed. Her head lingered on his pillow, his scent surrounding her, his touch trailing across her waist only for both hands to settle on the round of her stomach.

"Lily?" he said. "You probably already know this, but your mommy is the most badass person in the world."

Laughter bubbled in her chest, but it was a hissed _shush_ that fell from her lips. "Don't listen to him, Lily," she told their daughter, hand falling to rest over his on her baby bump. "Your daddy is _actually_ the most badass person in the world."

"Mommy's lying to you," he countered, eyes locked on hers as his lips brushed over the fabric of her shirt. "She spent all evening talking down a killer to protect you."

"And Daddy tackled that killer to protect us both," she said, smiling down at him when he teasingly rolled his eyes.

"Okay, but your mommy has overcome _so_ much, and she's still the strongest, most badass person _ever._ "

She huffed. "And your daddy fought his PTSD today so that he could save you and me," she told Lily, sticking out her tongue when Castle let out a feigned huff of annoyance.

"Your mommy gets to carry a _gun_."

"Your daddy walks into hostage situations without so much as a properly secured bulletproof vest."

"Your mommy protects herself in those situations without _any_ bulletproof vest."

It continued like that, a back and forth of compliments directed to their daughter but spoken for each other until he was crawling back up in bed, holding her close as she fell asleep.

* * *

 _Episode beta work by acertainzest, amtepe, and ivyandtwine._

 _Castle Season 9 is produced by Team Planet and the writing team of Castle Season 9_ _. Executive Producer is acertainzest._

 _For a full list of Season 9 authors, please look at our ffnet profile._

 _Twitter: castleseason9_

 _Tumblr: castleseason9 dot tumblr dot com_

 _Special thanks to castlefanfics for promotions_


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